I geuss it was more a type of game than an actual game, but I loved to pretend. I could pretend anything. That I was a futuristic soldier on a far off planet or a laborer for some wealthy family. I could pretend that I was a princess or a minstrel.

There were plots that I loved… we’re at war, or we’re in a horror movie, or we’re sneaking into enemie territorie. As I’ve gotten older pretending has become more of a life skill then I might have previouslie imagined. Let’s pretend to be sociable and sophisticated. Let’s pretend that we’re smart and have our shit together. Let’s pretend that we’re a grown up and that we’re not completelie floored by the fact that you let us sign leases or own property.

Let’s pretend for instance that you’re twenty-one floors up and that the lightning is flashing like the largest most phosphorescent firefly you’ll ever see. The thunder crashing a bit close for comfort and the rain spattering down. And you’re standing dry on your balcony looking out on lights that light up your city all night. Or pretend that you’re sitting on the softest bed in the world enjoying the high ceilings and the granite countertops.

And maybe just for a minute it doesn’t feel like your pretending at the maturitie and the sophistication. Then you remember that you forgot your laundry in the laundry room for two full days and it all comes back (plus apparentlie you have more crayons then any grown woman should).

So maybe for now the maturitie is just pretending, just like the couch is reallie a futon, but for now, it’s close enough that it doesn’t make that much of a difference. So you can sit in your new apartment, on the comfiest bed in the whole world and even though you’re tired and sore and you’ve got to do it again tomoro, you’re happie to be home.